


The Optimist

by Zhie



Series: Raising Cain In Valinor Once Again [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Contests, Family Vacations, First Kiss, First Meetings, M/M, Music, Sex Education, Sleeping in the same bed, hidden identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:01:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22154458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhie/pseuds/Zhie
Summary: Fingon gets to meet his cousins for the first time while on a family vacation with his brother and father.  There is more than the stories to this series - see https://raisingcain.weebly.com/ for more fun.
Relationships: Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo
Series: Raising Cain In Valinor Once Again [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1594654
Comments: 5
Kudos: 35
Collections: 2020 My Slashy Valentine





	The Optimist

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RaisingCaiin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaisingCaiin/gifts).



> This is the first in a series of stories written for Raising Cain for My Slashy Valentine 2020. 
> 
> I serious could not have pulled a better selection of prompts. I nearly thought I was writing for myself with the amount of overlap that occurred... I hope you enjoy!

Fingon was an optimist. He had long been afflicted with optimism. It was first noticed by his parents, who watched him offer toy after toy to his infant brother in hopes the next one would not get lost. “I think he might be hiding them on purpose,” Fingon informed them one afternoon when the day’s losses included two carved horses and a red and yellow leather ball. Turgon had said nothing--he simply sat quietly on the floor with one chubby hand extended in anticipation of the next offering. “Eventually he will run out of places to put them,” Fingon said assuredly as he held out a toy boat, which Turgon snatched, held onto in his mouth, and carried off while crawling away on all fours.

In school, he had declared his intentions of being the best at every subject--simply so that he could help others master them as well. His expectation was to befriend everyone, but at times even the most optimistic can become frustrated. Indeed, he did excel in mathematics and strategy, and in music and art, in architecture and engineering, and to a lesser degree, poetry and literature. It was not, therefore, his scholarly pursuits which got the better of him, but his attempts at socialization. “I cannot understand why no one wants to walk home with me,” he wondered over supper one night. By then, Turgon was old enough to sit in his own chair and Aredhel was held by her mother as they ate. Turgon was building a tower with his mashed potatoes throughout the conversation, which Fingolfin took very seriously. “I try to help them,” said Fingon. “None of them are as good as I am, and I explained that I can assist them in learning the topics better, but they all tell me they have other things to do. They will not even sit with me at lunch. My teacher says it is because I am precocious, but I think he wants to call it something else.”

Fingolfin meant to dish out some fatherly advice, but that was when Aredhel decided to slam a tiny fist down into the bowl of gravy. Some solutions require better set-up anyhow.

Then there was the summer they spent with Feanor’s family, quite on accident--or so Fingolfin claimed. Fingon recalled all of the planning his father had done, but when they ended up at the same summer cottage as his uncle and the seven cousins he had never met before, his father pretended it was spur of the moment. Uncle Feanor accused a conspiracy, but he left it at that, and waved an arm at the house and told Fingolfin that only the servant quarters were free and he would need to figure out lodging in whatever way that meant. 

Fingolfin had only brought his two eldest sons on holiday, and he deemed that with two beds in the remaining room, he and Turgon could share that space. “There has to be an extra bed in one of the other rooms,” said Fingolfin logically. “Why not go make friends with your cousins and see to that? Turgon and I are going to go fishing for peace offerings for my brother.”

“You want me to be the one to go make friends?” asked Fingon incredulously. “Have you not listened to my woes the last forty years?” His optimism had been waning in recent years. He had gone from the common school to an apprenticeship for music, much with the same results. Even the master musician had once told Fingon to his face that he could not stand spending recreational time with him, no matter how much of a prodigy he was. 

“I think this is going to be different,” declared Fingolfin as he gathered fishing equipment. “Turgon and I will be out by the lake if anything goes wrong.”

Fingon made his first stop to the nearest room. There were three cousins there--all of them reading, all of them ignorant of the person in the doorway. Two were nearly identical, with red hair, and the other had very dark hair, almost black, and looked remarkably like his grandfather. Fingon cleared his throat, and without looking up, the tallest one with the dark hair, who was lounged on his bed, announced with clarity, “Go away!”

“Right. Of course.” Fingon shook his head. “Go make friends. It will be different,” he muttered to himself as he approached the next doorway. Within, there were two cousins. One was very fair, and was sitting on a bed with a bow in his hands. The other was dark haired and resembled his Uncle Feanor and sat on the floor with his back against the biggest dog Fingon had ever seen. They were carrying on the sort of conversation two friends manage by weaving back and forth between each other’s sentences. They stopped when they saw Fingon. “Can we help you with something?” asked the fairer of the two.

Fingon cleared his throat. “I was told to go make friends,” he said bluntly.

The one on the floor snickered which the one on the bed tilted his head. At the ground level, the dog lifted his head and growled slightly. The elf beside him petted his head. “Were you really?” asked the one in possession of the bow, standing up from his perch on the bed. 

“The room we have is lacking in a bed and I was sent out to see if I might find accommodations with one of you.”

The room did happen to have three beds in it, and the fair one looked over his shoulder and then back. “We seem to be full up here.”

Not that Fingon really wanted to share quarters with these two, which he already categorized as dangerous in his mind from his first impression, but he pressed with, “There are two of you and three beds.”

A muscle in the face of the elf before him twitched, and he said, “What do you expect my hound to do--sleep on the floor?” The words were no longer an even tone, and they made someone down the hallway a little further peek out of another room. “You can sleep on the floor for all I care!” he shouted, and he stepped very close so that he took up part of Fingon’s personal space, but Fingon did not so much as flinch. “I ought to punch you for such insult!”

“Hey!” 

Both Fingon and the yet named cousin looked in the direction of the third voice. From a room a little further away, an arm beckoned. “Leave him alone, Tyelkormo. You are twice his age. You are Astaldo?”

Fingon gave a single nod.

“They named you Astaldo?” Celegorm asked incredulously.

Fingon gave another nod, this time in Celegorm’s direction. “My father calls me Findekáno.”

“Fucking incredible,” muttered the elf on the floor as Celegorm snorted and assessed with, “Even worse.”

“Come on.” The elf who had engaged in conversation from down the hall was now by Fingon’s side. “Leave these ruffians be.”

“Yeah, go on. Get out of here. Go talk to the pacifist asshole instead,” Celegorm snapped.

The elf who had come to retrieve Fingon made a very uncomplimentary gesture at his brother before bringing Fingon down the hallway. “Now, what is all this about sleeping on the floor?” he asked as he brought Fingon into a room with two beds. One was vacant except for a harp; the other had been recently slept in.

Fingon tried to keep his eyes focused on the elf he was speaking with, but the beauty of the harp kept catching his eye. “The room my father, brother, and I are in has but two beds. I was looking to see if I might share with one of you. I promise I do not snore or talk in my sleep, I am courteous and empty the chamberpot every morning, and keep my room tidy.” That last part seemed unlikely to be a dealbreaker for this elf, for there were piles of things strewn here and there and laundry heaped on the single chair in the room. Two drawers were open, and a trunk appeared only half unpacked. 

“I would offer, but I need to keep my harp somewhere. The last time I left one on the floor, the dog thought it was a chew toy.”

This opened the conversation for Fingon, who said with complete honesty, “It is a beautiful harp. It puts mine to shame, and I am rather proud of the one I own.”

“You play?” 

Fingon nodded emphatically. “I am one of the best,” he said without the boastfulness one might expect from such a comment.

“Are you now?” The elf looked Fingon over. “You cannot be that old. I saw you when you were born, and that was not very long ago.”

“You have met me before?”

“Russandol and I both did. You and Curufinwë are about the same age.” The elf held out an arm in greeting. “I am your cousin Makalaurë, but if my father is around, say only half-cousin to appease him.” Maglor looked to the harp and then said, “I wish I could offer you the space, but I truly need it for my harp. If only Russandol had an extra bed in his room,” said Maglor wistfully. “If we can find another place for my harp--”

“The harp stays on the bed. That was father’s stipulation for you bringing it.”

Fingon turned around at the sound of yet another voice. And looked up. And up. And up.

He took a step back. The elf behind him was the tallest person he had ever seen--and that was saying something, for even still in his youth, his brother had surpassed him in height. (Fingon was also beginning to realize that he was very short for an elf.) “I do not suppose you have a solution for my dilemma,” said Fingon. He took note of the fact that his nose would have touched this elf’s sternum if they were but a little closer to one another.

Maedhros pointed to the harp. “You can play?”

Fingon nodded.

“One of the best?”

Fingon nodded again.

“If you can best me, you can have my bed.” Maedhros edged around Fingon and came into the room. “Makalaurë will judge.”

“Oh, no, do not put poor Makalaurë in the middle of this. He hates conflict,” bemoaned Maglor as he sunk down on the messy bed.

Maedhros picked up the harp and sat down to position it in his lap. “I will play first, to be fair. If you can match my notes, the bed is yours.”

Fingon sunk down upon the floor, his concentration on the sounds of the harp and the movement of Maedhros’ hands. It was a complicated song, but a common one, and something Fingon had practiced before. About two-thirds through, Maedhros hit a wrong note, frowned, but kept going. At the end, he held the harp out to Fingon. “Think you can do better?”

“I know I can,” Fingon answered. He and Maedhros switched places, and Fingon repeated the song, matching the notes, only his technique was superior, and he could trill where Maedhros could not, and played the undertones expected but that Maedhros had neglected. 

Movement down the hall did not distract Fingon from his task, nor did Celegorm appearing at the door to scold his brothers. “You told us you would come get us when you played, Makalaurë!” But when Celegorm was shushed and saw it was not his brother playing, he leaned against the doorway to listen. And when Fingon reached the part that Maedhros had played incorrectly, he, too, did so, but looked up to meet Maedhros’ eyes and Maedhros gave a nod of acknowledgment. 

When the song finished, Celegorm said smugly, “You missed a note.”

“Russandol missed the note; Astaldo was just repeating him.” Maglor, who was lying on the bed staring at the ceiling, judged with, “I think we all know who won.”

“Are we really going to have to call him Astaldo the whole time?” whined Celegorm.

“You can call me Findekáno instead,” offered Fingon.

“Ew.” Celegorm left the room.

From the floor, Maedhros said quietly, “I yield to you. The bed is yours.”

Fingon placed the harp aside. “I do not want to take your bed from you. Can we not share?”

Maedhros raised a brow as Maglor sat up. “You would consider sharing a bed with me?”

“Clearly, he has not heard the rumors at the Court of Tirion,” mumbled Maglor. Maedhros shot him a dark look.

Fingon laughed. “Why would I be at the Court of Tirion?”

“Why would you not be? In fact, why do we not see you there?” questioned Maglor.

Now Fingon was confused. “What are you doing in the Court of Tirion?”

Maglor looked at Maedhros. “Is he serious?”

“He sounds serious.” Maedhros looked back to Fingon. “All of the Princes of the Noldor are welcome at Court. In fact, they are encouraged to be there. We are taking a holiday from all that; that is why we are here.”

Fingon blinked. “You are all princes, then?” Maedhros nodded. “Oh--through your mother?” Maedhros shook his head. “Well, that makes no sense,” reasoned Fingon. “Your father and my father are brothers, and only because of their father, and if you are princes because of your father, then my father--” Fingon paused. “Is down by the lake. Excuse me.” He stood up, walked to the door, and then sprinted down the hallway and out of the house to catch up with the rest of his family.

They had not quite made it to the lake, and Fingolfin slowed down when he saw his eldest running after him, though Turgon continued on ahead. Fingon stopped to catch his breath, but then burst out with, “That is why no one likes me! It has nothing to do with me being precocious! They all know I am a Prince of Tirion, and that is why--and why would you never tell me that?” But before Fingolfin could answer, Fingon came to a different conclusion, this one less appealing. “Or...is it because I am precocious that you did not tell me who I am?”

The sudden disruption brought Turgon back around to where they were standing, and he looked over the scene (which he looked down on because of his height) and asked, “What is all this about princes?”

“Your brother found out what grandfather really does.”

“Oh. Good.” Turgon went back on his way towards the lake.

“Good? What is this, ‘good’. Turukano!” shouted Fingon, and his brother turned around. “Did you know this?” Turgon nodded.

“Why would you keep that from me?” asked Fingon.

Fingolfin placed a hand on Fingon’s shoulder. “It was hard for me, growing up in the court. I wished very much I could have had a ‘normal’ life. I wanted to give that to you, and your siblings. Turukano found out from Ehtelë and Laurefindë. I told him he had to keep it secret from you until you reached your majority.”

“That was two years ago,” spoke up Fingon. “Two years, three months, nineteen days.”

“And that is part of why I kept it from you just a little longer. You just--you needed time.”

Fingon rubbed his chin, and then recited, “Quick-witted academically; markedly slow when it comes to peer socialization.”

Fingolfin looked aghast. “Who told you that?”

“My common school teacher,” said Fingon. Then, Fingon looked sheepish. “Actually, I hid in the room during lunch when everyone went outdoors, and I sneaked it from the desk and read it in his journal.”

“Astaldo--that is not nice. You know better,” scolded Fingolfin.

“But I just had to! He kept looking at me whenever he wrote in it. It was all about me,” Fingon added in defense. Then he followed up with, “But I found a bed!”

“That is great--and...friends?”

“Work in progress,” Fingon said, trying not to cringe. 

“Father! I think I caught something!” shouted Turgon from the shore. It was evident he was fighting with something on his line.

“I told you to wait!” called out Fingolfin, who grabbed up the gear he had set on the ground. To Fingon, he said, “Astaldo, I want to speak to you more about everything when your brother and I come back later.”

“Of course. I have a lot of questions,” Fingon said. Then he added, “Would you mind calling me Findekáno while we are here?”

“Uh...sure. Why do--”

“Father, I need help!”

“Talk more later,” promised Fingolfin as he jogged to where Turgon was.

Fingon stood in the middle of the half-grass half-sand patch where he had spoken to his father until he could feel that there were some grains of sand in his shoes. He took these off and walked barefooted back to the house. His shoes he deposited by the door. Fingon then walked back to the room where the contest had been held. Only Maglor was still there, now working on emptying the chest, but Fingon stood at the doorway and asked, “Since you judged, you must be even better than Russandol or I. May I hear you play?”

“I only play at night,” said Maglor as he deposited a stack of shirts into a drawer. “Only the light of Telperion inspires me.”

Fingon nodded, but stayed in the doorway. He thought this over, and then said, “If you only play at night, I could sleep in the bed when you use your harp. I rarely sleep very long. In fact, I am accused of having insomnia.”

“You won Russandol’s bed,” Maglor said. “I think he was straightening it for you--not that you need it until later, but you are going to use his.”

Fingon chewed on his lip. “But then, where will he sleep?”

“Maybe you can sleep in shifts,” suggested Maglor.

“What if we want to sleep at the same time?”

“I am sure he can use the couch in the foyer if needed,” said Maglor.

“Is my bed not good enough for you now?” teased Maedhros, who had silently come up behind Fingon once again.

Fingon turned, and this time his nose did bump into Maedhros. “Not at all! I mean, it is,” corrected Fingon. “I just feel terrible about the negotiation, and it seems cruel to--”

“Are you barefoot?” 

Fingon looked down between them. “Yes,” he answered.

“Where are your shoes?”

Fingon considered this. “I honestly do not recall…”

“Shall I help you look for them?”

“I need a nap,” declared Maglor, and he came to the doorway to gently but firmly force both his brother and cousin into the hall so that he could close the door.

Fingon yawned at the mere suggestion. “Maybe I should nap,” he said as he stepped in the direction of the room his father and brother were sharing.

“Where are you going, then?” questioned Maedhros.

Fingon turned around. “My brother is fishing. I can use his bed while he is away.”

“Your bed is in here,” said Maedhros as he motioned to the door at the end of the hallway.

“But--”

“I will not take no for an answer. You won fairly, and declining will hurt my pride,” said Maedhros.

With a nod and another yawn, Fingon took a step forward. “What was it earlier that Maglor was saying about the rumors in Tirion?”

“Nothing important,” Maedhros said, but from down the hallway, Celegorm called out, “Makalaurë was referring to his sexual deviance!” 

“Excuse me.” Maedhros marched down the hallway and entered Celegorm’s room unbidden. There was some shouting, a scuffle, and a few barks. Maedhros exited and pointed a warning finger back at the occupants before the door was slammed shut. When he returned, he was blushing the color of his hair and said, “Sorry about that.”

“What is sexual deviance?” asked Fingon.

Maedhros blushed a brighter shade of red. “Well, uh...it has to do with things outside of what some would call normal, but it is often used by those who cannot comprehend or wish to oppress others.”

Fingon listened intently. When Maedhros finished, he politely said, “Thank you for that, but I was already somewhat aware of what deviance means. What does sexual mean?”

Maedhros swallowed hard. “Of or pertaining to sex.”

Fingon nodded slowly. “And what does sex mean?”

“You are unfamiliar with that word?”

“Yes,” said Fingon with pure innocence. “Can you teach me what it means?”

The door of Maglor’s room flew open. “Can you please carry on the remainder of this conversation elsewhere? I fear to think where this is leading!” Though Maglor had been kindly earlier, he now appeared harsh and annoyed. The door was slammed shut again.

“Come with me,” said Maedhros, and he took hold of Fingon’s hand and brought him into the room at the end of the hall. Once they were inside, Maedhros shut and locked the door. There was no bed that Fingon saw as the door was locked, but there was a small flight of stairs, and this lead to a loft. The loft was really just a large bed with windows that overlooked the lake.

“Oh, this is very nice! And big enough for both of us,” said Fingon as he flopped onto the bed.

Maedhros removed his boots before he cautiously sat on the edge of the bed with his back to Fingon. “You will need to give me a moment. I find it hard to believe you have never heard of sex before.”

“Maybe there is a synonym?”

“Copulation.”

“Not familiar with that.”

“Love making.”

“How does one ‘make’ love?”

Maedhros sighed. “Exactly...um...fucking?”

“I am not familiar with fucking, either.” Fingon put his hands behind his head. “Maybe if you just describe it for me?”

Maedhros looked over his shoulder and scrutinized Fingon. “How old are you?”

“Fifty-two.”   
  
“Alright. Well--”

“How old are you?”

Maedhros swallowed. “Older than you are.”

“That hardly seems fair,” Fingon said. “I answered you.”

“There was a reason for that,” said Maedhros, but he complied. “One hundred and seventy-five.”

“That makes you nearly three and a half times the adult I am,” Fingon said. “Mathematically speaking.”

“Right, you had formal education,” realized Maedhros. “What did you learn in biology about reproduction?”

“What is biology?”

“Oh, sweet Eru...the science of living things.”

“Oh--science!”

“Yes!” Maedhros said with great hope. “What do you recall about that?”

“Nothing. I never learned sciences,” said Fingon. “My father said those were unnecessary.”

Maedhros shook his head. “Incredible,” he murmured. “Alright...what did your parents tell you about your siblings. Did they tell you where they came from?”

Fingon considered the question. “No...just...they are my siblings,” he said.

“Did they ever say how they made them?”

“They did not make them,” Fingon said, chuckling a little. “They were gifts from Eru.”

Maedhros let out a frustrated sigh.

Fingon nuzzled at one of the pilows. “I really want to know what sex is, but I also really love this bed. What is this?”

“A pillow,” answered Maedhros, a little uncertain where the conversation might lead now.

“Oh, I know that,” answered Fingon. “I meant, what is this fabric? It feels so smooth, like skin after it has been rubbed with lotion.”

Maedhros leaned forward to hide the response from the mental imagery Fingon conjured for him. “Silk,” whispered Maedhros. “It is called silk.”

“We do not have anything half as nice at home,” said Fingon. “I just want to wrap myself in it. That probably sounds weird...wanting to wrap up in something that feels like soft skin. I have often thought about what it could feel like to rub my skin against someone else’s.”

Maedhros stood abruptly. “I think I will leave you to rest. I should check on Makalaurë.”

Fingon bolted up. “I said something wrong, I think. Did I? I am so sorry--I really...no one has ever talked to me this long before unless they were forced to. I was...I really hoped maybe we could become friends.” He looked down at his lap as tears stung at his eyes. “I am sorry.”

Maedhros looked over his shoulder but did not turn around, still concealing his desire from Fingon. “I think we could be friends,” he said said carefully. “You are just very different from most people I know.”

“Different bad or different good?”

“Just...different.”

A tear fell from Fingon’s right eye but clung to his cheek. “I have had people tell me that before, but none of them wanted to be my friend.”

Maedhros sat back down slowly. “Surely, you do have some friends, though.”

Fingon shook his head and wiped at his eyes.

“None?”

A sniffle was the only answer.

Maedhros reached his arm back behind him and touched Fingon’s hand. “I would like to be your friend. Maybe...maybe even more than friends,” he added.

“What is ‘more-than’ friends?” wondered Fingon.

Maedhros scratched the back of his neck with his free hand. “That is something that eventually leads to the other things we were talking about.”

“Skin pillows?”

“Hmm, when you say it that way--I am not saying this to offend, but I think I know why you have had difficulty making friends,” said Maedhros gently. 

“Not skin pillows.”

“Can we agree not to say ‘skin pillows’ anymore?” Maedhros looked over his shoulder and Fingon nodded. “Wonderful. Not that, though. The other thing.”

“Fucking.”

Maedhros cleared his throat. “Yes, that one. I was going to say ‘sex’, but, yes.”

“Well, you hesitated when you said ‘fucking’ earlier, and since it relates to ‘sexual deviance’ in some way, and I know what deviance means, it must logically be the most accurate of the words you used,” said Fingon. When Maedhros did not answer, Fingon asked, “Since there are no words for you to use to teach me what fucking is, can you show me what fucking is?”

With a wince, Maedhros looked heavenward for guidance. “You sent him to me, so if this is not Your plan, You had better intercede swiftly.” 

“Who are you talking to?” asked Fingon.

“Eru,” answered Maedhros.

“Oh.” Fingon flopped back down and squirmed a little. “We pray to the Valar, and then they share the important parts with Eru.”

“I see.” Maedhros looked over his shoulder again. “Maybe we should start with something more basic than fucking. Do you know about kissing?”

“Yes!” Fingon was glad to finally have a connection to something. “My parents kiss.”

“Have you ever kissed anyone?” asked Maedhros.

“My parents said kissing is just for a husband and wife to do,” answered Fingon. “They told me I had to wait.”

“I see.”

“I got into a lot of trouble when that happened.”

“Ah...so you have kissed someone before?”

“Well, sort of,” said Fingon. “When I was younger, a girl asked if I wanted to kiss her. I said sure, and she made me close my eyes, but then there was wetness, and I looked and it was a frog. And then another time, I asked a boy if he wanted to kiss, and he said he only kissed girls. So I told him to close his eyes, and he did, and then I was going to kiss him and tell him a girl did, but that seemed mean, so I ran away. Then I told my parents.”

“You went and told your parents what you did? How did they react?” asked Maedhros carefully.

Fingon squirmed again. “Actually, the boy told his parents, and they told my parents, and then I told my parents about what happened with the frog, and that was when they told me kissing is for just husband and wife.”

“Have you ever thought about a wife? You are of age now,” said Maedhros.

There was silence.

“Sorry; that was perhaps too personal a question,” Maedhros apologized.

Fingon sat up again. “Are we friends yet?”

Maedhros considered and said, “I think so.”

“Then I can tell you personal things, right?” 

Maedhros nodded. The bulge in his leggings had subsided, so he repositioned himself on the bed to face Fingon. “Go ahead.”

“I have a problem when I meet men who are nice to me. I only bring it up because you asked about the kissing,” said Fingon.

“Oh?” Maedhros began to regret his decision to turn around.

“When I met your brother earlier, and he was nice to me, I started to think about kissing him. I mean, first I thought about his harp and how messy his room is, but then I thought, I want to try kissing him. I know not to, though,” Fingon said quickly.

“You want to kiss my brother?” Maedhros tried not to sound displeased.

“Not any more. He yelled at us,” Fingon said. “And I do not think he would like it.”

“No, he probably would not,” answered Maedhros. “Also, he has a girlfriend.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?” asked Fingon.

Maedhros shook his head.

“Then who have you been sexually deviant with? Because I have figured out this is probably something done with another person,” Fingon surmised.

“No one, really,” Maedhros said. “That is why they call it a rumor.”

“I see.” Fingon frowned. “So...who would you want to be sexually deviant with? Or is the whole thing a lie?”

Maedhros folded his hands in his lap as a precaution. “I have something personal to tell you, too. I have thoughts about kissing other men. That is why there are some who would say I am a sexual deviant.”

“I see.” Fingon’s eyes widened. “Does that mean I am a sexual deviant?”

“Some might say that. But we can protect you. No one knows about your secret,” said Maedhros.

“You would protect me?” asked Fingon. Maedhros nodded. “You are a good friend.” Fingon placed his hand on Maedhros’ shoulder. “If I had other friends, I would say you were my best friend. Can you still be my best friend?”

“Yes,” Maedhros said softly. 

“More-than friends is different from best friends, though,” guessed Fingon.

Maedhros nodded.

Fingon licked his lips. “Do more-than friends ever kiss each other?”

Again, Maedhros nodded. “And more,” he added, gaze flickering to the windows to make sure no one was looking up to the room from the outside.

“May I?”

Maedhros looked back. “Are you always this polite?”

“I have been instructed in etiquette since a very young age. It is my worst subject, but I usually remember to say please and thank you.”

“In that case, yes, you may,” answered Maedhros.

The expectation from Maedhros was that Fingon would kiss him tentatively, and they would reflect on it afterwards. What he did not expect was Fingon to aggressively plunge his tongue between Maedhros’ lips, but Maedhros welcomed this unexpected pleasure. He tried to keep his hands at his sides, but twice they wandered to touch Fingon’s thighs, and finally held him steady as he boldly pushed Maedhros back and continued to kiss him while they were prone. When they paused, Fingon apologized. “I only meant to kiss you once, but it felt so very good, and you did not seem to object. I should have asked first--your pardon, my friend!”

Maedhros only groaned and tilted his head back. “Are you sure you never did that before?”

“Never.”

“You are very instinctual.”

“Thank you. I think.”

“It was indeed a compliment.”

“Can you teach me fucking now?”

A loud banging came on the door on the lower level of the room. “Father says to get your ass out here to help make supper!” shouted a voice unknown to Fingon. 

“Be right there, Carnistir!” bellowed Maedhros, and Fingon flinched and nearly covered his ears. “Sorry,” Maedhros said. “Uh...I think teaching you anything else might have to wait.”

Fingon nodded, but his eyes could not hide his disappointment.

“Alright, alright...umm...quick version,” said Maedhros, already aware of how the newest addition to his life had him wrapped around his finger. “Have you ever...have you pleasured yourself before? With your hand--have you taken hold of your manhood and fondled yourself?”

“Have I masturbated?” asked Fingon.

“Yes. Mas--wait, how can you know that word? You do not know sex, but you know masturbation?”

“I read a book about it,” said Fingon.

“An entire book on masturbation?” Confusion wrinkled Maedhros’ brow.

“The book was on etiquette and the evils of society. It covered a lot of things one is not to do,” explained Fingon. “There was a chapter that detailed how one should or should not touch their own bodies. It explicitly explained masturbation.”

“So, clearly, not something you have done,” reasoned Maedhros.

Fingon shrugged. “I tried it and I liked it, so I just make sure I only do it when I am alone. I figured, while the book said we were not to do it, why would we have been designed to be able to reach those parts with our hands--and so easily and conveniently? The palm literally cups the genitals as if they were made for each other.”

Maedhros’ eyes grew wide. “Oh, this is suddenly going to be easy. Alright, fucking is like masturbation, but with two people. And often times, one of the people inserts their genitals into the other, which increases the pleasure they both feel.”

This new information made Fingon contemplate what he knew for a moment, and he then asked with sincere curiosity, “If two men are fucking, does that mean one puts their penis around the other?”

“I fear I do not follow you,” said Maedhros.

“There was something in that book about stretching, but it was really badly worded. It talked about a hole, and the only one I know is on the tip of the penis, but--”

“No! No, that should not be stretched. That sounds like a bad idea.”

“Yes, I agree. It hurt when I tried.”

Maedhros winced. “You tried it once? With what?” he regrettably heard himself ask.

“The first time, I just used my fingers. Then I tried with the handle of a round wooden spoon and I got a splinter, so I did not try again for some time. The last time--”

“On second thought, you can skip the rest,” said Maedhros. “The hole they are referring to is the one in your ass.”

“Oh. That does make a little more sense.” Fingon thought about this. “Can we try after dinner?”

“Uh...I mean...do you understand how bonding works? Marriage?”

“I know that marriage is between one man and one woman. I do not know how that relates to two friends fucking,” said Fingon.

Maedhros groaned. “I will try to tell you everything after dinner--but you have to promise me, as best friends, you will not tell anyone else about anything we talk about.”

For a moment, Fingon looked unsure again, and Maedhros worried he would need to explain oaths and promises, but then Fingon raised his right hand with the palm facing Maedhros. “I solemnly swear not to speak to anyone about fucking or anything else we talk about.”

If it was not said so seriously, it would have been both hilarious and adorable. Well, it still was anyhow. “Good. After dinner, I will tell you everything. I promise,” added Maedhros as he lifted his hand.

They both kept their promises, and while they did not end up having sex after dinner that night, they did so several times in that room over the course of the summer. When the holiday ended, Fingon departed with his uncle and cousins for Tirion, where he took his place at Court and learned all of the customs and laws and practiced both harp and etiquette. 

Most of all, he used his soft innocence to sway opinions, and to convince some that what they perceived to be blasphemous relations might not have been as terrible as they once thought. He refused to hide his love for Maedhros in the shadows as others in the Court did, and so he became a known champion of the right of marriage for those who loved differently than the majority of the population.

Then, of course, came the return of Melkor, and that is a story you know already, so I shall not retell it here. Many years passed, from Valinor to Middle-earth, and once again back to Valinor. Time was spent in contemplation in the Halls of Waiting, but always, Fingon would share his plans for what he intended to do once he was released. 

After all, Fingon was an optimist.


End file.
